Confessing a Simple Truth

“What the heck are you doing in my room?!” she shrieked, her face twisting up in angered horror.

I was still drowsy from my shower (something about the hot water, steam, and the scent of generic hotel soap makes me so tired) when I heard her shouting. I had a white towel wrapped around my waist, a droplet of water falling from my shaggy onyx hair and rolling down my chest.

Okay, let’s backtrack here. My name’s Nick. I’m from Canada, but I’m in Seoul, South Korea for a job opportunity I couldn’t refuse. See, I’m a song writer, and chances like this don’t come around often. My company liked my song, so they sent my here to show it to SM Entertainment. My presentation is tomorrow, so I’m staying in a hotel just outside of the capital. (There’s a big f(x) event going on in the city tomorrow, so finding a hotel inside the city is nearly impossible.) Unfortunately, I came to Seoul during hurricane season, and the hotel where I am staying, well, they’re having computer problems, which explains why I am in the same room as this screeching girl right now.

She grabbed a pillow from the bed, chucking it at my face. It hit me hard in the head.

Seriously, who is this girl and why is she throwing pillows at me?!

“What,” –she threw another pillow—“are,” –incoming!--- “you,” –ouch! That one hit me in the nose!—“doing,” –a hotel chocolate to the eye—“in my room?!”

She was breathing heavily, panting even, when my eyes finally came to rest on her.

Is that…? Oh my God! …I can’t breathe.

I out.

~*~

Click!

The door shut softly.

“Hey, you,”

I was nudged in the side.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!”

Thud.

Ouch.

I opened my eyes into thin slits, the white light of the room burning my retinas.

Why am I on the floor?

A face peaked over me, hands holding onto the foot support of the bed like a contour on a rotting log, searching for its next meal.

“You pushed me off the bed?!”

A devious smirk spread across her face, her talons tightening their grip on her perch.

“What the heck did you do that for?!”

She chuckled, her smirk growing.

“You sleep on the couch,” she said.

I looked around the room. “Thereis no couch,” I hissed.

She giggled, holding a clawed hand to her lips. “Oops,”

‘Oops’, my .

“Floor it is then,” she sang sweetly.

“I’m going to go down and have a word with the management.” I announced, mostly to myself, as I stood up.

“You might want to put some pants on first.”

~*~

“What do you mean there’s nothing you can do?!”

“S-sir, our main computer system is still down and all our rooms are full. There is nothing we can do. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

I grunted in response, too ticked at the situation to do anything but that.

“Thanks anyway,” I mumbled, retreating through the lobby and to the elevator. I hit the arrow pointing upwards, wanting to do anything but.

While I stood waiting for the elevator doors to open and send me back to what would surely be my death, I tapped my foot impatiently.

“Excuse me, sir?” a voice spoke. “Sir?”

I turned, finding the woman from the counter standing before me.

“Here,” she said, offering me a stoppered bottle. “To break the tension.”

I took the bottle, my eyes sweeping over the label before muttering a small “thanks” under my breath. She was gone by the time the elevator dinged, announcing its arrival to the lobby floor.

Pinot Noir. Champagne. I’m supposed to break the tension with champagne…right, lady, right.

I stepped through the elevator doors, pressing the floor number and waited for the doors to close.

~*~

I swiped my keycard through the sensor on the door, turning the handle. It opened with a small click and I sighed as I closed it behind me.

“Did you get a room?” she called from the bed.

“Better,” I said, holding the champagne behind my back.

She sat up, smoothing her hair.

“Well,” she said. “Let me see it.”

I showed her the bottle, a smile wandering unknown across my lips as her eyes lit up.

“Do we have glasses somewhere?” I asked.

“No glasses…we have coffee cups though.”

“That’ll work,”

She went in to find the cups while I popped the cork.

~*~

She laughed drunkenly. “You’re so funny!”

If only that wasn’t the thirtieth time she had said that, maybe then I would have blushed.

“Jessica,” I said. (She had told me her name after her third cup when she had asked me to pour Jessica some more; that was her name, Jessica.) “Jessica, I think you’re done.”

She cackled, gulping the last of her cup. “Done?! I’m not done.”

“Jessica, you’ve had enough.”

“No!” she whined, kicking the bed with her feet.

I took the empty cup from her hand, putting what was left of the bottle of champagne in the ice bucket.

Plunk!

No ice.

I sighed.

“Jessica, I’ll be right back.”

I think she mumbled an “okay” as I grabbed the ice bucket, heading out the door and closing it behind me.

~*~

When I got back, Jessica was passed out on the bed, her left arm dangling off the edge, her feet resting on one of the pillows. Her lips were slightly parted and her hair looked soft and shiny. She looked…angelic.

I set the plastic bucket on the table, looking back to Jessica’s sleeping form. I debated touching her hair, to the point where I reached out my hand, outstretching my fingers, then curled them back, placing my arm at my side. I repeated the motion three more times, and on the third, no matter what I told my fingers, they came to rest on a stray lock of hair, moving it back to its proper place. I couldn’t help but notice Jessica’s sigh, which seemed somehow contented in its drunkenness. The smallest of smiles graced her lips, tugging the corners upwards.

Okay, I’m back. I just wanted to say a few things. 1) Oh, my GOD. 2) She looks, like, super pretty when she sleeps. Seriously, she looked like an angel. 3) I think I might be falling for her. That’s probably not a good thing, but you know what? I don’t care, alright? Alright.

I’m not going to tell you about what happened that night, because, well, nothing happened. I took her shoes off and put a blanket—you know, that one they put at the end of the bed for whatever reason—over her, grabbed a pillow from the other side of the bed, and slept on the floor. To be honest, I’m one of those people that hate sleeping on floors. Anywhere. Especially hotels. (Seriously, people’s shoes—and probably other things…ew, why did I even think about that. Why, Nick, why?!—touch the floor.) It’s just disgusting. But—back to where I was going with this—I think I slept better on the floor than I would have in the bed…next to Jessica. (This fact became more apparent in the morning:)

Eep! Eep! Eep! … EEP! EEP! EEP! … EEP!! EEP!! EEP!! … EEE—WHACK!

I heard a soft, hung-over moan, one whose owner wanted more sleep.

I had been awake for ten minutes before the alarm had gone off, but was afraid to awaken the sleeping beauty held captive in my room. (Okay, that sounded a lot less creepy in my head.)

“What time is it?” she wondered aloud, her words muffled by a pillow.

“Four thirty,” I replied quietly.

She whined.

“I don’t want to get up~!” she groaned.

I sighed, sitting up. I stretched a little, wandering over to the bed.

Her hair was askew, her make-up smeared and, for the most part, gone, one leg sticking out from under the sheets, her head buried in a mountain of pillows, the duvet had slipped to the floor.

“Jessica, wake up.”

All I got in response was an indistinguishable, hung-over groan. I tried to sound sterner.

“Jessica. Wake up.”

“NO!” was the following answer.

“You’ll miss f(x)’s concert if you don’t get up. You won’t get to see your sister.”

Another moan emitted from the pillow. “Fine,” it said.

She sat up in a swift motion, her hair at all directions, her clothes from the previous day wrinkled and baggy from a limp body filling them.

I couldn’t help it. My hand reached out of its own accord, using a finger to carefully reposition a lock of her silky hair and tuck it neatly behind her tiny ear. My knuckle brushed her ear, and I saw her shiver slightly. I told myself it was the temperature of the air in the room, but I secretly hoped it wasn’t.

“Go get a shower.” I said. “You smell like alcohol. I’ll go get some coffee; Black?”

“No,” she growled, obviously offended by my remark. “I take my coffee with cream, thank you.”

“Fine,” I said.

~*~

Click!

I looked around the room. I set the coffees and breakfast on one of the tables, happy to hear that the shower was still running in the bathroom. The sound of falling water calmed me as I sipped at my coffee at the table.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh………

The shower water stopped falling suddenly.

A few silent moments passed.

Squ-squeak!

Jessica peeked through the small opening of the door. She seemed embarrassed; as soon as she saw me, she ducked her head back behind the door.

“Come on. We aren’t playing hide and seek. I have to take a shower, too, you know.”

She popped back out and I watched her from the table.

She was makeup less and her hair was wet and sticking to her face; a plush white towel was coiled around her tiny body.

I swallowed; my throat got dry all of a sudden.

I felt myself standing up, but I couldn’t remember telling my body to do it.

“I, um, I’m going to go and, um, take that shower.” I stammered. “Your coffee’s right there.”

I gestured towards it, slacking my hand off the table.

Pain stabbed through it and I felt it beginning to throb but I left it at my sad, pretending that nothing happened.

“Well,” I said. “I’m going to go…do that…now.”

I willed my legs to push me toward the bathroom and was happy when they obeyed.

I closed the bathroom door behind me, sliding down its back as I sighed.

“Stupid, stupid, STUPID!” I cursed myself, beating my head against the door.

I beat my head harder, trying to get the image of Jessica out of my head. Her legs—so tan and long under that towel that covered barely anything.

~*~

I stepped out of the bathroom, the mirror now covered in condensation after my hot shower, closing the door behind me with a small click.

I saw Jessica at the table, a glinting silver fork in her hand. She had a huge assortment of delicious-looking food in front of her.

“I brought you food.” I said, gesturing towards the plastic plate on the table.

“It looked gross.”

“It tasted fine.”

“But this tastes better.”

I sighed at her stubbornness, throwing my suitcase on the bed and ping it. I retrieved a tie from one of the organized pile of clothes, and carefully tugged it beneath the collar of my crisp dress shirt.

Jessica got up from her place at the small table, walking over to me and began tying my tie. Her nimble fingers pulling the tie to my neck, straightening it out.

“I always used to tie my Dad’s.” she said, smiling as she finished.

She looked up at me, her chocolaty eyes burning into mine.

I leaned closer, angling my head to the side, my eyes half-lidded, watching her.

Sorry, kids. I’m not one to kiss and tell…er, rather, not one to not kiss and do tell. Confused you, didn’t I? Or maybe I didn’t. Well, point is, something may or may not have happened. It’s up to your wonderful (and maybe erted) imagination.

“Well, um,” I stammered, looking around the hotel room awkwardly. “I guess…I’ll leave first.”

“Good luck,” she told me, her eyes facing the ground. “I hope you succeed.”

Yeah, me too.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “And you never saw her again…right?” Wrong. I saw her later that day, when I was in the meeting. I think she was just as surprised as I was. Especially after I got my first assignment under SM Entertainment.

“Congratulations, Nicholas-ssi,” the other songwriters said, shaking my hand.

They were sitting across from me on a huge glass table, dressed in steamed dress shirts, solid-colored ties, and expensive-looking suits.

“Welcome to SM Entertainment,” one said. “You’re first assignment under the company is to write a duet with—”

“Sorry I’m late!”

The door had been flung open carelessly, no thought to privacy, just ripped open without a moment’s hesitance. Her head was bent in an apologetic bow, her hair covering her face. But I instantly recognized the voice; it was—

“Jessica-yah!” the writer on the left cried. “You finally made it! We were just about to mention you. Please meet Chan Nicholas-ssi, SM’s new songwriter. You two will be writing a duet together.”

Her head snapped back up in a second, her eyes connecting with mine.

“Him?!” she shrieked, her eyes widening in panic.

So much for being nice an hour ago, Princess.

So, that’s where we are now. Well, not exactly. The other songwriters led me and Jessica to a quiet room with a desk. Build into the wall was a recording booth, complete with everything I could possibly need.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” she sighed from my side. “I’ll be in the booth if you need something.”

I sat at the desk, trying to think of some type of lyrics when I heard a light humming coming from the microphone in the booth.

Mmm~
How did this happen
Without my permission
This feeling’s possessed me
I feel light as a feather
As happy as the sun is bright

I was staring at her through the glass, watching as her eyes closed, her lips moving close to the microphone as she sang in a sweet, high voice.

Waves crash over the ocean
As these feelings crash over my heart
I can’t stop this sensation
I don’t want it to end
Ooh~

Suddenly, she stopped. She looked at me and said into the microphone:

“That’s all I have. Did you get anything?”

I hadn’t. Just a title: Lyrics of Love. I shook my head. I heard her sigh, the sound reaching the microphone.

Baby, Baby
I can’t help what I’m feeling
No oh~
I just…

I was scrawling across the paper messily, the lyrics pouring out like water from a faucet. With these lyrics of love/I’m confessing my love for you/Listen to these simple words with your heart open and ready/I love you, I really do, ooh~/With these lyrics of love/I’m confessing this simple truth/I love you. I had been so busy writing that I hadn’t noticed her presence or the fact that she was standing beside me, reading what I had written over my shoulder.

“It’s good,” She complimented, nearly scaring me to death. “Really, I mean it. It’s really good.”

Once I had my heartbeat under better control, I responded with a quick “thanks”.

“You aren’t mad at me,” she asked, not meeting my eyes as she said: “…Are you?”

“Do I have a reason to be?” I responded, my brow stitching together in confusion.

“I guess not.” she said.

“I guess not.” I echoed

The awkward tension in the room was palpable; we both let out a sigh at the same time, chuckling nervously afterward.

Suddenly she touched my arm, almost timidly, watching my response with obvious apprehension. She spoke, her eyes downcast at the color-sprinkled cream carpet:

“Come into the booth with me.”

“That’s all right,” I paused, swallowing. “I can’t sing.”

“Anyone can sing; everyone can.”

“Well, not me.”

“You just need some coaching,” her voice seemed to have gained some confidence. “How about it, mm?”

“No thanks, coach.”

“Come on!” She whined, pulling me.

Man, this girl’s got some kind of superhuman strength or something.

Next thing I knew, I was standing inside the recording booth, Jessica putting a pair of the bulky head phones around my ears. I saw moving, but couldn’t hear her. I took one of the speakers off my ear.

“What?” I asked.

“I said those headphones are made to block out outside noises.”

She laughed and the microphone picked up the musical bubbling sound, amplifying it into my ear. She always looked so pretty when she laughed—the way her eyes would suddenly squint and the way the corners would tug upwards with her lips.

She stopped laughing and looked at me worriedly. I hadn’t noticed that I had gotten very close to her, closing the gap that had previously been there. I gulped, stepping back.

“Sorry,” I apologized quickly.

Her expression was one of worry, her eyes scrutinizing me. I heard her mutter a skeptical “uh huh” under her breath, and her eyes watched me carefully.

“Well, let’s get to recording what we have, all right?” I said quickly, trying to change the subject. Her eyes still followed my every move, but she seemed to have agreed, nodding slightly.

We had finished the song that day, we’d recorded it even (she assured me that my voice didn’t sound as bad as I knew it was), and later that week, we had presented it to the SM heads, and they had okayed it for debut. My work here was done, wasn’t it? I was free to back to SM as a rookie songwriter and work peacefully and quietly in a small cubicle, right? Wrong. I still had that song hanging over my head.

“I’m what?!” I had nearly choked to death on the gulp of water I had halfway down my throat.

She looked at me with pleading eyes, her lower lip jutting out in a cute pout. “Please?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “I can’t; no.”

“But, Nick--!”

“No means no.”

She had cat-walked her way into my small workspace on the twelfth floor of SM’s main building with a proposition on her mind: Sing the song with her on broadcasted TV…or she wouldn’t debut the song and I would have to go on without people knowing my ability as a songwriter.

Isn’t this blackmail in some way?!

“Pretty please?”

“Whether or not the please is “pretty” doesn’t change my answer. I am not, I repeat NOT, going to embarrass myself on national television; I’ll…I’ll get other chances to showcase my songs.”

I doubted that fact, but there was no way I was going to do that. I can’t sing in front of people. I can’t even sing in front of my own mother for Heaven’s sake! How the heck was I supposed to just debut myself on TV?!

“Nick, I’m begging you. Please sing the song with me.” I could hear the desperation in her voice. “Don’t you think I’m nervous, too? Sure, I mean, I’ve sang in front of people before, but I’ve always done it with a group. I’ve never performed any song I’ve written either. I’m probably more nervous than you can possibly be. I want to debut the song with someone I trust.”

She trusts me?

Long story short, she somehow got me to do it. And now I’m nervously waiting backstage on “Music Bank”…and I’m thinking I might throw up. That’s not a fun thought at all. My hands are all shaky and clammy and I’m sweating and my shirts sticking uncomfortably to my back and I-think-I-might-just-throw-up-that-kimchi-I-ate-for-lunch. Lord help me.

“Nick,”

I heard her but didn’t respond. I was too focused on keeping the kimchi in me.

“Nick,”

She touched my knee affectionately. She was sitting on a folding chair across from me, looking me in the face.

“Nick,” she called in a reassuring-type tone. “Calm down. You’ll be fine.”

Easy for you to say. You’ve done this time and time before. And you didn’t eat breakfast or lunch.

“You’re on in 30 seconds.” The stage manager told us, handing us both a microphone.

“I’m going to die.” I whispered. The mic. felt slick in my hand from the sweat that had formed on my palm. “I’m really going to die.”

Jessica pulled on my arm, leading me up out of my chair and to the edge of the backstage area.

“10 seconds.”

Jessica looked into my eyes, standing on her toes to peck me on the cheek. She squeezed my hand. “You’ll be fine.”

I was too awestruck to even speak. Jessica had kissed me. Holy crap, Jessica Jung kissed me. Jessica Jung from SNSD just kissed me.

“5 seconds, 4…3…2…” The stage manager signaled for us to walk onto the stage.

I could immediately hear the cheers of many girls and the whooping calls of boys in the audience. But as I felt Jessica’s grip tighten on my hand as the music began to play, my nerves melted away. She began to sing:

I have a feeling that’s locked inside myself
It keeps growing with every glance in your direction
I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is
I can’t stand not confessing any longer
I need to tell you the words my heart longs to say

Mmm~
How did this happen
Without my permission
This feeling’s possessed me
I feel light as a feather
As happy as the sun is bright

She looked at me, her eyes bright and happy. There was a encouraging smile on her face as I began my verse:

I have a feeling building up within me
I can only hope you feel the same~

Her smile broadened as my voice echoed through the hushed crowd. She sang:

Waves crash over the ocean
As these feelings crash over my heart
I can’t stop this sensation
I don’t want it to end
Ooh~

Together, we harmonized as we sang the chorus I had written:

With these lyrics of love
I’m confessing my love for you
Listen to these simple words with your heart open and ready
I love you, I really do, ooh~
With these lyrics of love
I’m confessing this simple truth
I love you

Next came my part again; she gave me another hand-squeeze. I sang:

I don’t know what’s come over me
I can’t get you out of my head
Each time I’m near you
My pulse races
My heart wants to fly like a bird

I can’t bottle this up anymore
I need to confess my true feelings for you
I have a feeling built up within me
I can only hope you will feel the same

She closed her eyes as she sang the high part; I took the lower:

I sang, staring straight into her eyes, hoping she would see the truth beneath the lyrics:

I love you

She harmonized easily with my part:

I love you~

Loud applause and cheers rang out from the audience. I smiled to her as we left the stage. Her excitement was obvious on her face; it formed a huge grin across her face.

“We did it, we did it, we did it!” she shouted, jumping up and down like a little kid. She jumped in my arms, hugging me tightly.

She let go, apparently remembering that most people like their personal space, but I held her to me, staring down into her eyes; I don’t want personal space when I’m around you. I inclined my head ever so slightly closer to hers, my eyes boring into hers. As I got closer, I felt her breath catch in , her eyes slipping shut. I closed the gap between our lips.

~With these lyrics of love, I'm confessing this simple truth: I love you.~